


A Little Nip in the Air

by Celly1995



Series: Kitten Kaner [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cats on Catnip, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Smut, Kitten Patrick Kane, M/M, Recreational Drug Use (but not really), Silly, Smut, Tactile, Touching, catnip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995
Summary: The one where Kaner tries catnip.AKA, "That Lovin' Feline"





	A Little Nip in the Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hippietoews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippietoews/gifts).



> This is tagged "recreational drug use (but not really)" instead of just "recreational drug use" because...well, it's cat enjoying catnip. Anything that happens later is done with full, explicit, eager consent and within the context of an established healthy, loving relationship. Tagging for such a thing is really just a CYA. The other tags, as always, serve as a general guideline

Jonny's got a mouthful of blueberries when his phone chimes with a text message alert, and he's glad he's at home and not somewhere public when he glances down at the words lit up on his screen, because he makes an ungraceful choking noise and actually manages to spit some of the chewed-up fruit onto the front of his shirt.

_Cat's out of the bag_

Jonny swallows the rest of his food so fast his throat hurts and calls Patrick. He's half-expecting to have it ring and then go to voicemail, so he's surprised when the call connects and Patrick answers with "So I assume you got my text?"

"Did you mean what I think you meant by that message?" Jonny asks. He presses two fingers against the side of his neck. Yeah, his heart rate's up a little. They'd tossed around a handful of code phrases over a month ago, about half of which were ridiculous and silly, but Jonny's just now realizing he's not sure if they ever _decided_ upon anything. Christ, he's normally so much better at planning for things.

"Jesus, Jon, you sound more worked up than I do," Patrick says, and he might be accurate about Jonny not necessarily being at his calmest, but Patrick's voice is weirdly tight, and Jonny doesn't miss it.

"So what's going on? Are you—how long do we—?" Jonny cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face. "Are you safe?"

"Yeah. This isn't like last time—I mean, it kinda is, with the first couple phone calls, but it's not like..." This time Patrick trails off, and Jonny can hear him take a deep breath before he lets it out shakily. "Okay. Let me start over. We talked about me maybe just... _letting_ that thing happen, next time, right? If you were serious about it, I think that's probably...a way this could go."

Jonny can't make himself say anything for a couple of seconds, while his brain sort of halfway reboots. "Okay. Okay. Yeah. We can, uh. We can make that. Okay." Fuck, he's got to focus. First things first. "How long do you think you have until it happens?"

Patrick sighs, but even that turns shaky at the end. "I'm not even one hundred percent sure it's _going_ to happen. I was thinking this might actually be a test to see if I can kind of push it forward instead of pulling it back. But, uh, yeah. So, not, like, imminently, while we're on this phone call, but...."

Okay. Jonny feels his chest loosen just a fraction. "Where are you? Are you home? Do you want me to come over there?"

"I'm actually closer to your place," Patrick says, and it's only as he does that Jonny realizes he can hear background noise he can't quite identify. "Does that—?"

"I'll come get you," Jonny says, voice firm. There's no way in hell he wants Patrick driving if he's worked up enough to be worried about fucking transforming, and if he's wrong on the timeline, it would probably be even worse if he changed in the back of some taxicab or something. Jonny doesn't like thinking about how close _that_ actually was to happening, the last time. "Just tell me where you are."

Patrick gives him the name of a coffee shop not far at all from Jonny's place, and Jonny tells him he'll see him in ten minutes.

He makes it there in six.

Patrick's sitting outside with a bottle of water in his hand and his earbuds in when Jonny pulls up, and he doesn't take them out of his ears or say anything until Jonny pulls away from the curb.

"What's wrong?" is the first thing Jonny says, forgoing even a standard 'hey' or other form of hello. "Because something is, right? Or have you just been hiding a bunch of stuff for a while?" He tries really hard not to make that last bit sound accusatory, but he's not completely sure he makes it.

Patrick shakes his head. "I got a phone call." Even with just a quick glance, Jonny can see the way his hand tightens around the water bottle, the plastic crinkling a little beneath his grip. "Uh. Maybe we should wait to talk about it until we're actually inside your place. Because talking about it is probably not going to make me feel any calmer, and I want to go over some things before this all goes down."

"Yeah. Okay." Jonny's going through about a million horrible possibilities in his head that he doesn't dare give voice to, so he just keeps his mouth shut.

Patrick toes off his shoes in the usual place once they're inside and heads for the couch, so Jonny lets him take the lead on this. "Okay, so, a couple of things before we get any further," Patrick says, angling himself to face Jonny as they both sit. "First off, I want to test this thing a little. This is the first time it's happened where I feel like I have even a shred of control over the entire scenario, and your idea to kind of play with that and see what sort of factors I can manipulate is a good one. I've never had control over when I could change back, before. I want to see if I can, this time, since I know what's going on. After I change, I want you to tell me when it's five o'clock. Like, I know you said you were able to get a yes-no answer out of me that first time. So make sure I understand and am actually paying attention. If this goes right, I'll be able to change back within a couple of minutes of that."

Jonny glances at the clock and nods. They have five days before their next game, which is thankfully at home. He's already been mentally preparing for nearly a week of kitten care, so roughly four hours is going to be absolute cake. "Okay. What else?"

"If I can't manage to change back on schedule, are you really okay with this? Even if it means a few days with you having to watch me?"

"Pat. I knew what I was getting into when I suggested this a few months back. Hell, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating after you changed back the first time. Just, uh, I sort of know what set you off the last time, and we've kind of been over a few of the things that helped you change back, then, but...if this starts to push the limits of you having to miss a mandatory practice or the actual game on Saturday, what do you want me to do?"

Patrick half-smiles at him. "If I'm not back to myself on my own, you've got permission to do whatever you think will get me back to normal. You know what this shit entails, man. I trust you. And if that wasn't obvious before, this entire fucking conversation had better clue you in, or I swear there's no help for you." He gives Jonny's thigh a brief shove, and Jonny pretends not to notice that Patrick's palm is still sort of clammy.

"Yeah, no, I think I've got that."

"Good." Patrick opens his mouth to say something else, then stops and squints. "What the hell is on your shirt?" he asks instead of laying out another guideline for their experiment.

Jonny looks down where Patrick's staring and sighs. "Blueberries?"

"You miss your face while you were eating, or did you lose a fight with the blender top again?"

"Look, that was three months ago—" Jonny starts, wondering if Patrick's ever going to let him live that down. That shit took _forever_ to get cleaned up, and Patrick hadn't exactly sped up the process. He'd been too busy laughing to do any effective cleaning for at least ten minutes. Jonny had probably been lucky Patrick at least managed to toss him a clean dish towel to wipe his face off with while he'd been too startled to actually move and get something for himself. He was pretty sure he'd cleaned pureed kale out of his ear canal the next damn morning. "Never mind. I was kind of alarmed at your text, okay? It took me a second to realize what you meant in the first place, and then I kind of choked on the last of my breakfast. I ran out of here so fast I didn't even remember it until just now, thanks."

"Aw, you were worried about me," Patrick says, and he's probably trying for smartass, but it comes out something closer to legitimately touched.

"I still am, asshole. Are you going to actually tell me what's wrong?"

Patrick shifts on the couch and fiddles with his watchband. "Right. Like I said, I got a phone call. And I'm going to do for you what Jackie _didn't_ do for me, and start off with the information that everything's fine. Well, okay, not great, but it's not news that's worth the fucking heart attack I almost had in the middle of the damn sidewalk. I'd just said goodbye to Sharpy—we joined up for breakfast this morning –when my sister called. And after I said hello, what _she_ said was 'Patty, there's been an accident. The car's totaled, and mom and dad have been taken to the hospital.' That's it. Those are the only words she said before her fucking phone died and dropped the call."

"Oh, Christ," Jonny breathes. He can only imagine the sudden shitload of stress and horror that had to have flooded through Patrick at hearing those words, especially given how close he is to his family. "You said they're all right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess the airbag gave my dad a black eye and a bloody nose and they took him in to make sure that's all that was, and my mom just ended up with some bruises. Nothing more serious than that and maybe some whiplash. I already tried to tell everyone I could be on the next flight out, but my parents insisted I shouldn't bother. My personal theory is that they're afraid I'll strangle my sister for just dropping that sort of bombshell on me and letting me think the worst until I got Erica on _her_ phone eight fucking minutes later." Patrick sighs heavily. "So. Yeah. Apparently that's a level of stress high enough to flip all the warning switches on this bullshit."

"Justifiably," Jonny says with a nod. If David pulled that shit on him, he's not sure his years of work at meditation and mindfulness and everything else he's made a conscious effort at improving in order to keep himself centered would do a lick of good. "So you want to try to use that stress to...test the limits of your condition?"

"That's what I'm thinking, yeah. I mean, if they were really, actually hurt, I'd be on my way there right fucking now, and I don't know that I'd be able to...whatever." He shrugs one shoulder. "So. Yeah. While everything and everyone's actually _safe_ , and we happen to have a few days off, it seems like the best chance we've got to work some of this stuff out."

"Okay." They sit on the couch together, and Jonny tries to make himself relax and internalize that there's no reason to be on edge. They've been through this before. He knows what's coming.

Only it's sort of...not.

"So, like...are you not going to change, after all, or...?" Jonny asks after about twenty minutes. Patrick's just been sitting upright on the edge of the couch, hands resting on his knees for pretty much that whole time, staring at a spot on the floor about three feet in front of him.

Patrick looks up and gives him an irritated sort of glance. "Look, I've never actually _made_ myself do this before. When I was younger, I had, like, two minutes, max, of warning before it happened. When I was sixteen, I'd kind of thought I might've been feeling the precursors for, I dunno, a few hours beforehand. Last time, I knew I'd been kind of skirting the issue for...Jesus, I don't know. Depends on how you look at it. A week. Maybe a couple days. Or twelve hours. By the time I figured out the launch sequence had actually started, it was maybe forty-five minutes, and that's when I got an Uber and got my ass over here, because you weren't on your way to my place or anything, and I knew that if I didn't resolve the fucking issue, shit was going to do down in a really fucking inconvenient way. Point is, every other time this has happened, I was doing everything in my power to _avoid_ this thing happening. So trying to sustain and then push the feeling forward, after finding out my parents are okay after all, is not something I've got a lot of practice at. That's what this is. My first practice." He makes a face and then flops back against the couch cushions. "It's like...I dunno, this shit's hard to describe. It's _sorta_ like when you're first getting sick. Like, at some point, you're aware that you feel _kinda_ sick to your stomach, but that can last either a few minutes or _hours_ until it hits the next level, where you know there's a decent chance you might throw up, but there's also a chance you might not, if you take deep breaths, or sip some ginger ale and eat some crackers, or lie down and not move for a little bit. And then there's that next step, where you _know_ the puking is going to happen, but you're not sure if it'll be in five minutes or thirty seconds—or maybe you even think you've got a couple minutes and plenty of time to get to the toilet, and then you just suddenly _don't_ have that time, and you puke all over the carpet or in someone's car or whatever."

"And usually, most people try to keep from throwing up, even if it'll make them feel better physically, and don't sit there and try to force it," Jonny says slowly. Because that shit always sucks, and it's instinct to generally _not_ want to encourage that physical misery, not to mention whatever other social ramifications there are if you're anywhere in public or in a friend's car and find yourself in that position.

Patrick nods. "Yeah. Instinct is to fight it, even if it's what your body needs to do. So working in the _other_ direction isn't something I've ever tried to do, and it's not as easy as you might think. I'm trying, man, I am. I even feel like I'm really damned close. But it might just be something that can't be forced. If you've got any ideas to kick-start this thing into gear, I'm open to hearing them."

Jonny thinks about it for a minute, watching Patrick absently mess with his watchband again. "What are you thinking of while you're trying to make it happen this time?"

"I dunno, like, just trying to remember what it felt like when Jackie called, trying to sort of get and keep that tension, and see if I can dial that up, I guess."

"Well, you said you were in your own head too much the last time, so...what if overthinking or just focusing on the worst-case scenario is what pushes you over?"

"What do you mean, worst-case scenario?"

"I mean, I don't know about any of the other times, but it seemed like it wasn't _just_ stress, but also some element of fear—like you were afraid of a certain outcome or whatever—so what if you tried really _visualizing_ that?" He hates himself a little for what he's about to say, because it's not pleasant, and he hopes Patrick forgives him. "Obviously, you were afraid the worst had happened to your parents. Like, did you have a flash or vision where you saw them seriously hurt, or dead, or...?"

Patrick's looking at him with wide eyes, just a little pale. "Jesus Christ, Jon, this is the most fucked-up guided meditation _ever_." His throat makes a little clicking noise when he swallows. "But I think you might be on to something. Because yeah, I did get this really vivid mental image of my mom just trapped in the car, like, upside down and shit, and—" He cuts himself off and shakes his head at Jonny. "I fucking _hate_ when you know me better than I do, you assho—"

And that's all he gets out before there's this weird-sounding crack and then he's just...not sitting next to Jonny anymore.

Well, he _is_ , but he's a lot smaller and fuzzier and he's also kind of trapped in his hoodie.

"I'm going to try _really_ hard not to say 'I told you so' when you're back to normal, but no promises," Jonny tells the kitten as he extracts him from Patrick's clothes. "Also, I'm sorry for bringing that shit up like a jerk, but you said yourself that you needed a push." It's hardly the first time over the years they've known each other that he's pushed harder than Patrick wants to be pushed—and like a lot of those other times, it gets the reaction and result Jonny's digging for.

He lifts Kaner up and holds him so he's dangling in front of Jonny's face. "Okay. For now, you've got a few hours to do your thing like this before we see if you can change back on your own. So have at it." Kaner meows at him agreeably, not sounding angry at all, and Jonny gives him a quick little affectionate headbutt before setting him on the floor to get down to whatever kitten business he may have. As Kaner scampers off, Jonny reaches over to fold and stack Patrick's clothes and other belongings, goes to change his own shirt, and then flips on the TV and finds something he can half-watch while he keeps an eye on Kaner.

After about an hour, Kaner wanders into the kitchen and meows until Jonny gets up and joins him, getting the hint when Kaner rapidly taps his paw against the spot on the floor where Jonny had set up the food and water dishes last time. "You thirsty, bud?" Jonny asks, and the kitten softly meows. "Do you need food, too?" Kaner silently stares at him in response, so Jonny verifies the info: "Just water, then?" When he gets the same meow in reply, Jonny can't help but smile, just a little. The communication aspect of this situation is _way_ easier this time.

He gets the ceramic dish out from the very top shelf of one of his cupboards and fills it with filtered water, setting it in its predesignated place. Kaner darts between Jonny's legs and rubs his face against Jonny's ankle for a moment before settling in at the bowl and lapping lazily at the water. Jonny gives him a quick scratch between the ears and turns to head back to the living room, thinking that this cutesy shit is a hell of a lot easier to appreciate when he's not constantly worried about what's wrong with Patrick or warring with his emotions over how he feels about him.

And then another thought hits him.

"Should I set up the litterbox?" Jonny asks, because that's one more of those practicalities they've got to deal with. He takes Kaner's distinctly unimpressed face and clipped meow to mean that no, he should not bring out the Box of Indignity just yet. Jonny, who does not want to find another present in his houseplants, just sighs. "If you change your mind, I really hope you'll let me know beforehand," he mutters, going to sit back on the couch and maybe pick up the book Dan recommended he read over a month ago, bargaining that he'd read one of Jonny's motivational favorites if Jonny picked up something from a recent fiction bestsellers list.

He gets a couple of chapters into it—it's all right, he guesses, but it's some political thriller murder mystery thing, and those aren't really his jam—before a paw snakes out from under the couch and bats at Jonny's ankle. Jonny leans down at scoops the kitten up, earning himself a startled 'mrow', and plops him on one thigh. "You doing okay?" he asks, carding his fingers through the soft fur along Kaner's side. On his lap, Kaner stretches, back claws pricking through Jonny's jeans, and purrs. "Okay then," Jonny murmurs, taking the soft rumble for satisfaction of some sort and giving Kaner a couple more strokes before he's had enough, leaping neatly off Jonny's leg and onto the floor, off on some other adventure.

When Kaner next appears in Jonny's line of sight, he's dragging something—well, two somethings—in his mouth, very nearly tripping over one of them with every third or fourth step. Jonny can't help but laugh a little. "You bored, there, bud?" he asks, getting down on his hands and knees on the living room floor to take the items Kaner's located and brought him. Jonny's not even sure where the laser pointer _was_ —he hasn't seen it since the first time Patrick went kitten on him and Jonny had brought it out to see if it would capture his attention, so maybe Kaner had stashed it somewhere for safekeeping that had remained untouched until just now—but the other item has to have been lugged from upstairs, and Jonny kind of wishes he'd seen how Kaner managed to get the damned thing down the staircase without eating shit and tumbling down at least a half-dozen steps.

One of the closets upstairs has a handful of cat-related supplies (like the empty litterbox, a half-full bag of litter, a handful of cans of wet food and a vacuum-sealed bag of the dry stuff). And, along with the items Jonny picked up a few months back, when he made his mostly-panicked trip to the pet store, a few other items have collected. Most of them are tucked back in the corner of the closet or high up on a shelf, but this is one of the ones that was at floor level. Jonny picks up the black plastic stick, one end of which anchors a long string that ends in a half-dozen feathers.

The feathers are in familiar colors, and the whole toy is a gift from Sharpy—well, from Maddie, who gave it to Patrick for Christmas, and Jonny had honestly forgotten about it entirely, let alone that Patrick had stashed it here at his place sometime within the last couple of weeks. Grinning, Jonny sits back on his heels and raises the stick up so that the feathers dangle _just_ above the kitten's head. Kaner's eyes widen and he reaches up with one paw to bat at the feathers, and Jonny lets him make contact with them before pulling it another few inches higher, letting it bob around his head and occasionally bopping him on the nose as he stretches as much as he's physically able. He chases after it when Jonny drags it across the carpet now and then, but he's much less interested in following the feathers along the floor than he is in chasing after the laser pointer, even when the patterns are essentially the same. Jonny wonders if Patrick can tell him why the preference exists when he's back to being human, or if it's just some indescribable, instinctual thing that defies actual logic or reason.

It really doesn't take terribly long for Kaner to tire of both toys, and when he gives Jonny a bored look and leaps onto the back of the couch, settling in for a nap, Jonny lets him go and pops into the kitchen to do a little bit of prep for the dinner he'd planned on making later tonight. There's more than enough for two humans—even two professional athletes—and it's easy to adjust the recipe he's had in mind to accommodate feeding Kaner as a kitten instead of Patrick as a human, if it comes to that. He's got the wild rice blend ready to go in the rice cooker by four, the acorn squash is in the oven by four-ten, and when Jonny makes his way back into the living room not long after that, Kaner's apparently done with his nap and is eyeing the living room drapes in a way that Jonny remembers all too well.

"Dude, c'mon," Jonny sighs, exasperated. "Don't." Kaner glances back over his shoulder at Jonny and gives his most innocent look. "Yeah, nice try with that face. I saw what you were thinking of doing. I know I promised not to resort to the spray bottle again, but come on, man. There are still snags in the drapes from the last time. Leave 'em alone, and..." He actually can't think of a bargaining chip to use against the kitten, or one that might be good enough for the human version, later—if he even remembers, or is willing and able to tamp down on his feline instinct in the first place. "Just. Please?"

In response, Kaner sticks out the tip of his tongue while looking Jonny in the eye, and walks away. 

"Well, at least he listened this time," Jonny mutters to himself, settling on the floor by the couch in order to do a few back and shoulder stretches while Kaner's off doing whatever it is he does when Jonny can't see him. He hadn't necessarily done that the first time he'd been in this state.

Jonny still clearly remembers Kaner's slow, deliberate push at his gold medal, not to mention the way he kept eye contact the entire time, until the medal went off the edge of the table and down to the floor. Cat or not, it was still kind of an asshole move.

Kaner's not in the living room, dining room, or kitchen when five o'clock hits, and so Jonny begins the process of hunting him down. He goes room to room, calling his name, hoping that Kaner's not curled up asleep somewhere hidden where he won't hear his name being called. At this point, Jonny's pretty sure Kaner wouldn't go and get himself lost or try to escape and go wandering outside the house, but he'd be lying if he said that fear isn't there somewhere in the back of his brain whenever Kaner isn't easy to locate.

He finds Kaner at the back of a seldom-used closet, but only because there's a meow in response to Jonny calling his name. Left on his own in this game of hide and seek, Jonny probably would have hit panic mode long before stumbling upon the kitten. There's a pair of hiking boots in here with a thick layer of mud crusted on them that Jonny's been meaning to clean off for months, a couple of umbrellas, an air mattress still in the box, some spare air filters for the furnace, a small step-ladder, and just some random detritus that's accumulated here without a dedicated place to put it. Amongst that are a half-dozen new ceramic flower pots, the standard brown terracotta kind, in a variety of sizes. Kaner's curled up in one of the unused ones, seemingly mostly wedged into the smallest container. Kaner's pretty damn small, but the pot's only meant to hold a single bulb flower or maybe a small spray of herbs. Jonny couldn't even fit his fist in there if he tried. He wonders how long it took Kaner to get fully into that thing.

Jonny pulls out his phone and takes a quick picture before Kaner can move or protest. It's cute, and the sort of thing he's almost tempted to put on Instagram, but he'll probably only send it to Donna Kane. Eventually. Not right now, when she might—somewhat accurately—assume Patrick's freaked out about their car accident and it's put him in this state for the second time in less than six months, after so many years of Patrick virtually forgetting about his condition. "C'mon. It's five. Let's do this thing," he says, kneeling to help Kaner out of the pot by tilting it sideways and scooping him up once he's free.

They head back to the living room, where Patrick's clothes are still in a pile on one arm of the couch, and Jonny sits down in his spot from earlier after setting Kaner down on the floor in front of him, in an area that's clear of anything he might smack into when he changes back. He wasn't there the last time it happened, so he hadn't seen what exactly the process entailed, but he does remember the heavy crashing sound that seemed to be Patrick stumbling and falling over or plain just finding himself suddenly no longer fitting on whatever small area he'd been perched upon. He doesn't want to subject his coffee table to some sort of disastrous fate, nor does he want to be responsible for any sort of injury to Patrick's person. "Okay. Whenever you're ready, go ahead and change back, okay?" Jonny says, and Kaner meows in acknowledgement and sits very still, nothing moving except for the occasional twitch of his tail as he stares at some point several feet in front of him. Jonny tries to prepare himself for the sudden shift.

Nothing happens.

After five minutes of silence and almost no movement, Jonny starts to feel twitchy. So, apparently, does Kaner, who gets up and paces back and forth a few times before settling back down, this time lying flat on his stomach, like he's trying to get comfortable.

Fifteen minutes in, and Jonny's starting to worry, just a little. "I'm going to go get a glass of water," he says, trying to keep his voice relaxed and a little low, so as not to startle Kaner and stress him out. "I'll be right back." For all he knows, it's easier for Kaner to change back without someone watching him. He takes his time in the kitchen, stalling by checking the squash in the oven and then setting it out to cool enough for him to use in a little bit without burning the hell out of his fingers.

When he comes back to the living room, Kaner's curled up around himself, tell flicking in a way that looks agitated.

Jonny sighs. "Dude. Don't worry about it. We planned for stuff, in case this happened. No big deal, okay? You can keep trying to force it, but if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. It's not like I'm not gonna take care of you. We'll get you back to normal."

Kaner's answering meow is long and drawn out and also irritated as fuck.

"Yeah, I know," Jonny answers, even though he's not actually sure what Kaner's said. "Look. I'm going to make us dinner and brainstorm ways of helping out here. You said I had permission to do whatever I thought might be of assistance, right?" He takes the annoyed tail-thump of response as an affirmative. "Okay. So. I know it's probably a stupid thing to say, but...try to relax, I guess."

The look on Kaner's face lets him know that yes, it was a stupid thing to say. Jonny files that facial expression away as the cat version of _yeah, no shit, asshole._

Jonny's most of the way through having dinner ready—there's enough for both him and Patrick to have a full meal, but he's also set aside a small portion of certain ingredients that haven't been seasoned, in case it's a smaller, fuzzier version who joins him for their evening meal—when something warm and soft brushes against the top of Jonny's foot. Jonny looks down and tries to ignore the way something tugs at his chest when he sees the vulnerable expression on the kitten's face as it gazes up at him and rubs against the back of Jonny's calf and ankle. "Here," Jonny offers, bending over and holding out a small shred of plain chicken breast down at Kaner's level. "Food's almost ready, I swear." He gives Kaner a quick scratch in that place that's sort of behind his jowls or whatever the cat equivalent place is to the spot behind both the ear and the hinge of the jaw. He still gets that weird, almost sort of overwhelmed, affectionate feeling when Kaner uses the opportunity and placement of Jonny's hand to nuzzle his face into Jonny's palm.

They eat dinner in the living room, even though Jonny generally tries not to do that all that often unless he's got a bunch of people over or he's just sort of grazing, but it's easier to eat with Kaner this way. At the peninsula works, too, if he doesn't mind a cat standing on the counter. But for now he reasons it's good like this, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his plate on the coffee table and a small plate of food on the floor next to his knee for Kaner. Last thing he needs is a suddenly-human Patrick who's unable to cope with being crouched on top of the granite countertop.

Turns out Kaner's still pretty into being handfed, though.

Jonny's not entirely sure how he managed to forget that fact, but Kaner makes his preference clear enough when he just sort of looks forlornly at the plate of food until Jonny asks him if he isn't hungry after all. A few pathetic looks, a few taps at the edge of the plate with the tip of one paw, and one deliberate nip at Jonny's fingers finally get the message across. "Yeah, okay," Jonny sighs, pushing his own plate further back on the coffee table to focus on feeding Kaner. "I'll indulge you, I guess." He ruffles the fur on top of Kaner's head before picking up a small bit of cooked squash. Jonny's own dinner is chicken breast over a bed of a wild rice pilaf of sorts. He'd sautéed celery and onions in a little bit of sage-infused olive oil, added a few sliced mushrooms, and then finished off some of the squash he'd cooked by throwing it into the pan with everything else. For the hell of it, he'd mixed it all together with the wild rice blend he'd made. It's pretty good, although he's wondering if it might not be better with a small handful of dried cranberries.

Kaner turns up his nose at the plain rice blend, though (even though he definitely ate rice just fine the last time) and is pretty slow to nibble on the baked squash, so Jonny figures that means his awesome meal just isn't kitten-approved. Whatever. Patrick's got his own portion of the good, flavorful stuff waiting for him in the fridge. And this is exactly the reason Jonny's still got actual cat food still stashed away. Kaner's not starving or ending up malnourished on _his_ watch, thank you very much. He'll break that out in a little bit, after Kaner's had his fill of chicken.

"This is the sort of pickiness that leads to the guys chirping you for ordering plain cheese pizza, y'know," Jonny tells Kaner, who gives him a look that says he really doesn't give a fuck before taking another bit of chicken from between Jonny's fingers. "I guess I should just be glad you've accepted trying to expand your palate when you're human, huh?"

Kaner meows his agreement, and Jonny snorts a little. Well, you can't win them all. Really, he's surprised how many gluten-free options Patrick's actually attempted to eat, even if he does make faces or bitch about some of them still.

Jonny patiently feeds Kaner all he's willing to eat, sort of amused that one, Kaner enjoys the act so much, and two, it's something Jonny doesn't actually find at all annoying or too needy. His mind wanders briefly to their conversation from several weeks ago, about Patrick sort of being into a few of the Dominant and submissive culture things, like the idea of wearing a collar and maybe some of the bedroom play stuff. Jonny's done some incognito internet browsing since then; he's not entirely oblivious about that kind of thing. He's pretty sure Patrick would kick him right in the nuts if Jonny ever tried to handfeed him out in public or where literally anyone they know might be able to see—the only exception he can think of relates to the memories of pouring champagne in each other's mouths in post-cup-winning celebration—but he does wonder if Patrick might be into it in private at all.

Something worth figuring out, perhaps.

"All right," Jonny says to the kitten lurking just out of the way of being underfoot as Jonny cleans up the last of the mess in the kitchen. "I haven't had any brilliant ideas on how to get you to change back. So we're just going to settle in for a quiet night here at home." Maybe it's weird that he thinks of his place and not Patrick's condo as Kaner's home, but the wording feels right. They've always sort of invaded each other's spaces—and their relationship these days has definitely increased that tendency, in both frequency and intensity—but this is the only place Kaner's really had to settle in as a kitten, either time this has happened since Jonny's known him. "Maybe something will come to me tonight in a dream."

At this point, his only real plan of action is to just make sure Kaner's well taken care of and to let him enjoy his current state as much as he's able. Patrick had said that things were easier, in general, as a cat—that a lot more of his existence was about being in the moment, and experiences were sort of distilled—and if what he needs to be able to change back is to be comfortable and safe and free from as much anxiety as possible, then Jonny is going to do his best to provide that for him.

The next couple of hours are indeed pretty mellow. Kaner lounges in a handful of places, takes a few brief naps, and even settles himself at just below Jonny's sternum, curled up in a warm, purring little ball of fur while Jonny flips through channels until he finds something decent to watch on TV.

It's after nine when Kaner starts to get really restless, and Jonny has no idea if it's just because cats are more active at night, or if it's just because Kaner's irritated with himself at not having changed back yet. He definitely hadn't seemed thrilled to see Jonny come down the stairs with the litterbox supplies and bag of cat food. Jonny had looked at him and shrugged. "Just being practical," he'd said. Kaner had made a low growling sound that he probably thought sounded threatening. Jonny thought about telling him that his size made being threatening sort of a non-starter, but decided it was safer to keep his mouth shut. Kaner might be small, but Jonny remembers all too well that even small little kittens can inflict some damage. Between a couple of bites, a good swipe of one claw during their post-spray-bottle argument, and the claw marks when Kaner had slid down Jonny's bare torso, Jonny's got enough past experience to not want to test just how cranky Kaner may be.

"Oh, hey, I found something you might like," Jonny says as he watches Kaner stalk a shadow thrown by the light of the television and the movement of the small humidifier Jonny had turned on earlier. Kaner's interest in toys is hit and miss—he's a fan of the laser pointer for sure, and he was definitely into the pole with the feathers; the tennis balls with bells inside and felt mice have proven nothing more than a waste of a few dollars—but there's an item up in that closet, tucked back on a shelf, that hasn't been introduced yet. It may be one more thing that won't hold Kaner's interest, but it can't hurt to offer it. "Hold on a sec."

Kaner ignores him, focused instead on stalking his prey. After a moment, Kaner takes a leap and bounces off the wall the shadow had been cast against. Jonny barely smothers his laugh as he heads for the stairs to go get the new item for Kaner anyway. He'll let Kaner retain his dignity, unaware Jonny had witnessed the whole thing.

The item Jonny's hunting for is still sealed in its thick plastic bag, so he unwraps it and reads the few lines on the back of the package again. It's a little knit ball that looks like a hacky sack but weighs significantly less. It smells faintly mint-like, and the instructions say that "briefly squeezing or rolling the toy before use may improve your pet's reaction". Maybe Kaner's part of that percentage of cats that don't even react to this stuff, or maybe it won't do anything because he's not strictly one hundred percent feline, but Jonny figures it's worth a shot. He rolls the ball of catnip between his palms for a few seconds, then tosses it a few inches in the air before catching it and heading back downstairs.

"Hey, Kaner, c'mere," Jonny says, waiting as Kaner finishes drinking from his bowl in the kitchen before trotting over to him. He reaches out one hand to give Kaner a quick head-pat and scratch under the chin while keeping the ball hidden behind his back.

Given the way Kaner's eyes widen and he presses into Jonny's hand, sniffing, and then almost aggressively rubs his face against the palm, Jonny guesses that Kaner does, in fact, possess the gene necessary to be affected by catnip.

"You like that, bud?" Jonny asks, grinning. He pulls his hand away and Kaner tries to follow it, meowing in obvious protest and demanding it back. "How about this, then?" He brings his other hand out in front of him, ball held firmly in his grasp, and grins even wider when Kaner immediately lunges at it, managing to shove his face against it until Jonny raises it above his reach. "Here, have fun." And with that, he gently lobs it a few feet behind where Kaner's standing, watching in amusement as the kitten tears ass across the floor to chase after it, streaking across the room in a little blond-orange blur.

Jonny's not entirely sure who's enjoying this experience more—Kaner, or himself. It's amusing as fuck to watch the kitten flail about, rolling over onto his back while gnawing on the toy, sometimes holding it down on the floor while he rubs his face all over it. His furry little body shows off just how limber it is as he contorts in all sorts of ways, chasing after the ball and always trying to get closer to it, sometimes accidentally kicking it away in his excitement and then careening around the place, trying to recapture it.

Jonny's going to have to think about growing this shit in his garden or an indoor planter somewhere, just for any potential future occasions.

Kaner's still thoroughly occupied when Jonny gets up to use the bathroom and clean up the last of the stuff in the kitchen, but the sight that greets him twenty minutes later as he re-enters the living room isn't what he's expecting. It reminds him of the time he was helping his mom make dinner when he was seven or eight and he'd managed to drop an entire open bottle of oregano on the kitchen floor.

There's bits of dried green plant _everywhere_. It looks like a very small grass-filled bomb went off in Jonny's absence. Most of it covers about two or three square feet, but there's more spread a few more feet in almost every direction. And lying in the middle of the mess is Kaner himself, catnip decorating his fur, and the now-empty, frayed yarn covering sitting discarded near his tail.

"Dude, what the hell?" Jonny says, half exasperated. He's probably going to have to vacuum three separate times to get all of this up. He's not sure what sort of answer he expects, but he doesn't get one. At all. Kaner doesn't even glance in his direction. "Kaner, what did you do?" Still nothing. Not so much as a tic in Jonny's direction. That's unusual, and it makes Jonny's heartrate spike with anxiety. He crosses the space between them quickly, kneeling down with one knee in the mess of catnip when Kaner still doesn't react to him. "Hey, Kaner, you okay?"

Kaner does look at him then, but he's slowed down to a ridiculous degree. Even when he blinks, it's sluggish and his expression is...well, the best word Jonny can think of to describe it is _dopey._

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jonny sighs, putting together Kaner's lethargic demeanor and the things he's read about catnip. "You ate too much of that shit and now you're stoned, aren't you?"

He gets an answer in the form of the slowest, laziest meow he's ever heard, and a single twitch of the kitten's tail.

"Well, other than that, are you okay?" Jonny asks. There's a couple seconds of delay, but Kaner bobs his head in a single nod, a move that's still weirdly human. "Just too stoned to move, huh?" This time, the tip of the kitten's tongue appears, then stays there. "That's a pretty weak comeback, if that's what that was supposed to be," Jonny says with a snort. He can't tell if that was supposed to be snarky or sarcastic, or just a manifestation of Patrick's own tendency to always have his damned tongue poking out of his mouth. "Here. You're coming with me. I know you say you're fine, but I think you're better off where I can see you." He's not worried anymore, exactly, but he does feel just a little responsible for this whole situation, and he doesn't want to be a dick and abandon Kaner to...whatever it's like to be this epically stoned, as a cat. He's never _personally_ been so high he couldn't move, but he's been with people who have, and he's heard varying reports on what it's like, ranging all the way from shitty to literally unrecallable to amazing. Who knows where this falls when you're physically a cat but still a little bit human, mentally.

He picks Kaner up, cradling him in the crook of his elbow, and snorts again as Kaner more or less melts against him, patting Jonny with one paw. "Dumbass," Jonny says fondly, settling them both on the couch to watch some more TV. Jonny lets himself sprawl out and get comfortable, sort of draping Kaner over one thigh. He pets Kaner gently, at first to get the last bits of catnip off of his coat, and then just because they both enjoy it. After a while, Kaner seems to regain some more energy, and he lolls onto his back, still on Jonny's thigh, periodically nuzzling at Jonny's wrist or affectionately wrapping his tail around Jonny's forearm, near his elbow. Once Kaner starts purring—the sound a little lower than usual, a little slower, maybe—Jonny just grins and lets himself rest, tilting his head against the back of the couch and letting his eyes slip shut. He's not quite ready for sleep, but this is nice, and the sort of quiet contentment he doesn't get to enjoy as often as he'd like.

He's in that place that's not quite a doze but closer to a meditation-like state, when there's a very sudden pressure and weight on his lap, like someone's dropped a cloth tote full of laundry there, and Jonny lets out a startled 'oof' and snaps his eyes open to find Patrick staring back at him, Jonny's fingers buried in his hair.

"Noooo, don't stop," Patrick half-slurs when Jonny removes his hand. He rolls onto his side so that he can rub his cheek against Jonny's thigh. "Feels good."

Jonny snorts but complies, sliding his fingers through the curls at Patrick's temple and then a little further back, around the base of his skull so he can massage there and the back of his neck with his fingertips. Patrick hums happily, and Jonny can see goosebumps break out over his arms. "You're gonna get cold like this," Jonny warns, but Patrick makes a dismissive noise, like that's not his immediate concern and thus something he's going to ignore for now, and Jonny sighs. "All right, fine. Not my fault you're naked when you change back." He flails his arm towards the end of the couch anyway and snags the light blanket he'd thrown there earlier after watching TV, dragging it over Patrick's body as best he can without getting up.

Patrick burrows closer to Jonny, moving one arm up and worming his hand between Jonny's back and the couch, running his fingertips lazily over Jonny's T-shirt in a motion that echoes the rhythm of Jonny's own fingers on Patrick's scalp and neck. After a few minutes, Patrick drags himself mostly upright, knees bent with his feet planted on the couch cushions, and then plasters himself against Jonny's side. He throws one arm across Jonny's torso and rests his head on Jonny's shoulder, and Jonny readjusts his own position so his own arm is wrapped around Patrick instead of trapped between them and the couch. Jonny can still reach the curls at the nape of Patrick's neck, but just barely. So after a minute or so of winding them around his fingers and tugging lightly in the way he knows Patrick likes, he lets his arm relax a little more and rubs the palm of his hand lazily up and down Patrick's bicep instead.

Patrick makes a soft sound and rubs his cheek against Jonny's shoulder again before snaking his available hand up underneath Jonny's shirt, scratching gently back and forth just below the collarbone. It feels really good, and Jonny once again lets his eyes slip closed, focusing on feeling Patrick this close—the warm, smooth skin under Jonny's palm, the soft hair ticking Jonny's cheek, Patrick's blunt nails tracing a steady pattern across Jonny's chest. When Jonny lets his hand fall so that it's stroking over Patrick's ribs and waist, Patrick's breathing hitches and he lets out a breathy little sigh before trying to somehow work his way even closer to Jonny, which really isn't even physically possible. "S'good," Patrick mumbles, sliding his own hand down Jonny's sternum and rubbing just below Jonny's navel.

"You're, uh, really...tactile...right now," Jonny says, inhaling sharply when Patrick murmurs his agreement and slides his hand lower, gliding over the smooth fabric just below the waistband of Jonny's shorts and brushing ever so softly over his dick.

"You mind?" Patrick asks, and his hand stills for just a moment, though he makes no effort at all to lessen the amount of physical contact they're otherwise sharing.

"...No," Jonny says slowly, because he really doesn't. He wasn't expecting the night to go this way, that's for sure, but he isn't complaining, either. "As long as this is what you want."

"It is," Patrick says, and he sounds infinitely more assertive, more coherent, than he's been since he's changed back. "Like. A _lot._ "

Jonny nods. "Okay." And when Patrick resumes the soft, steady caresses over Jonny's fabric-clad dick, Jonny sighs at the contact and drops his own hand further, cradling the curve of Patrick's ass and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Definitely what I want," Patrick says, breathing the words directly into Jonny's ear in a way that makes his entire body break out in goosebumps and his toes curl involuntarily. And then Patrick cups his palm over Jonny's dick and strokes a little more deliberately, increasing the pressure at the same moment he drags his teeth over Jonny's earlobe, and if Jonny had an actual verbal comeback to that, he's forgotten it.

"Let's clean up and move to the bed," Jonny suggests about fifteen minutes later, when he manages to relocate his words. It's not that he's not enjoying this—he very much is—but Patrick still seems to be incredibly responsive to touch of all kinds, and they haven't even fucking kissed yet, they've both been so focused on every little hint of skin against skin...and, honestly, Jonny's afraid he (and more specifically, his back) is going to seriously regret being in this semi-contorted position on the couch for much longer. Besides that, he's still wearing goddamned clothes, while Patrick's been stark fucking naked, and Jonny would kind of like to even the playing field, here.

Patrick looks up at him from where he's lying both between Jonny's legs and on top of him and nods in easy agreement. Jonny walks down the hallway behind him, taking in the movement of the muscles in his ass, his legs, his back. He's not as broad or as tan as he was at the start of the season, but Patrick's skin is lightly flushed all over, and Jonny really just wants to get into a position where he can touch more of it. He thinks about getting his mouth on Patrick's neck, scraping his teeth lightly over the skin, running his tongue in the places Patrick likes best. He's in and out of the bathroom pretty quickly, already stripped down by the time he makes his way over to the bed, where Patrick's waiting for him. The bottle of lube and a condom are already sitting on the nightstand, a clear sign of where Patrick wants this to lead, and Jonny hopes he's willing to wait just a little bit for the main event, because he'd like to continue on this leisurely pace, if possible. They so rarely get this sort of opportunity to truly take their time with this intimate variety of foreplay, and Jonny appreciates it for the luxury it is, like being able to soak in a tub with Epsom salts and relaxing versus just scrubbing up and getting clean as efficiently as possible.

Any impatience or desire to rush that Patrick may have had seems to evaporate as soon as they're together in bed and Jonny fits his face into the curve of Patrick's neck and shoulder, licking over his pulse point with deliberate pressure as he draws Patrick closer with a hand spread across the swell of his ass. Patrick lets out a shaky groan of pleasure and Jonny grins against his skin. Patrick doesn't always say a lot in bed, but he's always more vocal when Jonny takes charge. And it seems like tonight he's even more so, giving up soft moans and hums and whimpers under Jonny's touch, and...well, to be honest, it's _really_ doing it for Jonny. He wants to take Patrick apart a little, caress by caress, using nothing more than his hands and his mouth, until neither of them can hold out any longer.

"Fuck, and people say _I'm_ the one with the good hands," Patrick moans shortly after Jonny's slid down a couple of feet on the mattress to try a new move when Patrick seems to be getting a little restless. Jonny's managed to slip his hand between Patrick's legs and massage a lubed finger around his hole. Jonny is—well, first off, he's not even surprised Patrick's managed to bring up hockey (let alone some backhanded bragging) during sex. Secondly, though, he's feeling pretty proud of himself. It's an ego boost to have someone so obviously pleased with his moves in bed.

Jonny hums. "So you like that, huh?" he asks, keeping his voice low and teasing. Instead of answering with words, Patrick just whimpers. Jonny grins to himself and takes the opportunity afforded by this position to lick and then lightly bite at one of Patrick's nipples (which are right at the perfect level for it, more by coincidence than design on Jonny's part) while pressing just the tip of his finger inside Patrick.

The response this time contains words, but none Jonny's could repeat in polite company.

Jonny's pretty deliberately not paid a lot of attention to Patrick's dick so far tonight, mostly because Patrick seems to be happy enough to be touched everywhere else, and Jonny doesn't think he's personally fooled around with anyone for this long without genitals being directly involved in...Jesus, he probably wasn't even old enough to drink in the States yet. He's given himself a few strokes here and there and a few firm squeezes at the base of his cock when Patrick's gotten him good and revved up, but when Patrick manages to twist himself partially into the bed so he can rub up against the mattress, apparently looking for the friction Jonny hasn't provided much of, Jonny figures it's time to step it up.

"Nuh-uh," Jonny admonishes in a soft whisper, nudging Patrick's hip up with one hand so his dick is free again. "I'm taking care of that tonight." He keeps his hand in place so Patrick can't roll back over, grabs the bottle of lube from the last place he'd left it, and pushes Patrick fully onto his back. He gets his hand slicked up and takes Patrick into his grip, thrilling in the way Patrick's breath stutters and his hand fists in the rumpled sheets at his side. "I've got you, see?" He lies back down at Patrick's side and brings up his other hand to cup the back of Patrick's head and angle him in for a long kiss. Patrick moans into his mouth and pushes his hips into Jonny's grip, and Jonny's enjoying the experience and small surge of power that comes with moments like this so much that he's entirely surprised when Patrick closes his own hand around Jonny's cock.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he says with real feeling, not quite loud enough to be a shout, but not that damned far off, either.

Patrick laughs and makes an effort to match the pace Jonny sets once he gets over the shock and starts moving again. "I love the way you touch me," Patrick says, stroking Jonny's cock along with his ego, "but I like touching you, too."

"No complaints here," Jonny half-grunts, hoping he can last at least as long as Patrick does before he hits the point where he can't stave off an orgasm any longer. He feels a little better on that front when Patrick's breathing speeds up, harsh breaths punctuated by quick, needy little moans and whimpers. "Hey now," he says, deliberately keeping his voice even, slowing his movements and trusting Patrick will follow along in this, also. "Not quite yet. Didn't you want to do other stuff, too?" He tips his head so that his lips brush the shell of Patrick's ear. "We can do anything you want, even if it's only this." He nips at Patrick's earlobe at the same moment he rubs his thumb just under the head of Patrick's dick. "Just let me know. I want to make you feel good."

Patrick makes a choked noise. Tilting his face up, he looks Jonny in the eyes. "Fuck me," he rasps, cheeks flushed. His pupils are dilated, but the thin rings of his irises are a piercing crystal blue. "Fuck me hard, fuck me gently, fuck me however you like me best, I just want to feel you in me, on me, _with_ me."

"Jesus Christ," Jonny mutters, feeling desire gather in all the muscles in his back and curl low in his belly, making everything feel heavy and tight. That might be one of the hottest things Patrick's ever said aloud. "Yeah. Okay." He catches Patrick's mouth in a kiss and Patrick returns it, greedily deepening it into something filthy that hints at his need for _more_. After a moment, Patrick rolls himself over so that his back is against Jonny's chest, and Jonny goes with it, slicking up his hand again and massaging Patrick's entrance in gentle circles until Patrick pushes back against him, whimpering in a way Jonny recognizes.

"I've got you," Jonny says again, taking a moment to give himself a couple of quick tugs before he slides the tip of one finger slowly inside of Patrick's hole, waiting until he can feel the muscles relax around the intrusion. If he's not careful, he's going to fire practically the moment he gets his dick anywhere fun.

"You always do," Patrick says with a sigh that turns into a soft moan when Jonny gently starts fucking him with his finger.

Jonny takes his time, trying to hone his focus on the cues from Patrick's body as to what Patrick enjoys most, instead of listening to his dick's increasingly urgent insistence that it would really like to join this party. When Patrick reaches up and back, managing to fist his fingers in the hair at the back of Jonny's head, Jonny dips his head forward and bites lightly at Patrick's arm before dragging his half-open mouth up and to Patrick's shoulder and then the crook of his neck. "You good?" he asks, to make sure.

"Jesus, Jonny, yes. I'm good. I'll be better once I get your dick inside me, so get with it, would you?"

Jonny laughs softly and nips at Patrick's hot, sweaty skin again. This is definitely the longest they've ever fooled around, a clear new record for the two of them, and Jonny isn't sure if they'll ever beat this run—though he's willing to try on some future date. "Come here then," he says, gesturing Patrick up on the bed. He grabs the condom and gets it on, fumbling for the lube before Patrick just hands it to him with a small scoff. Once he's ready, he maneuvers them both into place as best he can. This is a new position for them, and it takes a couple of awkward attempts before Patrick gets what Jonny's trying to do and makes his own adjustments. They've fucked face-to-face plenty of times, done it even more often with Patrick face-down on the bed, and even in assorted standing or sitting positions a few times. Some of those have turned out to be really nice, or good for when they're in particular moods or headspaces—and there are a couple of those Patrick's deemed "failed experiments," where one or both of them is either bored as hell or worried about sustaining an injury neither wants to have to explain to the team medical staff and catch smirking little glances from teammates about "lower body injuries."

Jonny really hopes this isn't one of the failed experiments, but he supposes time will tell, or they'll just switch to something a little more familiar.

"Maybe if we try..." Patrick mumbles, before he's got Jonny pushed halfway back against a bunch of pillows, sitting in his lap while facing away, and angles Jonny's cock so he can slide down on it, nice and slow.

"Yeah. Yeah, that works," Jonny says, voice tight as he tries to run through some French grammar drills to distract himself from his dick's triumphant _about goddamned TIME_. The problem with getting Patrick so worked up for so long is that it has a similar effect on Jonny, as well. If he let himself, he's pretty sure he could shoot his load within the next five seconds, and he's damn sure not about to let that happen tonight. He distinctly does not look at where his dick is joined with Patrick's body, instead closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Once he's all the way in and confident they can move without Jonny ending things way too early, he sits up a little and wraps one arm around Patrick's chest. "Lean into me," Jonny says, guiding him downwards, feeling the muscles of Patrick's abs strain and making everything else tighten in a way that maybe wasn't well-thought-out. He grits through it, relieved as hell when they're both reclined on the mountain of pillows at Jonny's back, at an angle that's not flat against the bed, but far from sitting up. It's almost spooning, actually.

"This is new— _oh_ ," Patrick says, the last word cut just a fraction short when Jonny uses his other hand to wrap around Patrick's dick and start stroking, almost teasingly slow. There's just enough height difference between them that this might work perfectly, with the weight of Patrick's entire top half pressed against Jonny, his knees and shins against the mattress on either side of Jonny's thighs. Patrick shifts a little more and Jonny can feel how well they fit, like this. "Oh, this—this is—oh fuck, this is—"

"Yeah?" Jonny murmurs, encouraging, into Patrick's ear. He lets his own hips move, keeping his thrusts small and controlled and in time with the movements of his hand around Patrick's dick.

"Yeah. Jesus, Jonny, just like that," Patrick moans, his head dropping back and leaving his neck bared. Jonny can't quite reach the spot he'd like to, but he makes do, grazing his teeth over a place between Patrick's back and neck, pressing his open mouth against the skin and giving the spot a firm suck. Patrick shudders in his arms and Jonny feels the way he tightens throughout his whole body, bearing down around Jonny's cock in a way that makes Jonny's eyes roll back into his head.

Jonny keeps his pace slow but steady, gradually increasing the measured roll of his thrusts, letting his hips arch higher as he clenches his ass tighter, searching for a rhythm he can hold for a little bit without it becoming too much for him to control. He reaches up with his other hand, thanking God for the firm support of the memory foam pillows under his back, and gently pinches and rolls Patrick's nipple between thumb and middle finger.

Patrick jolts a little, dragging a gasp out of Jonny that's lost in the low moan that escapes Patrick's throat, and Jonny fucking _loves_ when he sounds like that. His hand picks up speed and his hips soon follow, and Patrick's moans turn to whimpers, hitting a higher pitch as Jonny strokes a little faster still.

It's always a little bit of a power trip hearing the clear signs that he's leading Patrick closer and closer to orgasm. It also never fails to boost his own level of excitement.

"Okay, you're gonna have to slow down or be quieter if you don't want me to come really goddamn soon," Jonny warns him not long after, fighting his body's urge to give in and just take more, go faster, deeper, harder. He's about _this_ close to losing any actual rhythm to his ministrations, and if he climbs this particular hill of arousal any higher at all, he's not going to be able to do anything but fall gracelessly off its cliff.

"Like fuck I am," Patrick pants in his ear. "You have any idea how close I've been for the last...however long...goddamn _forever_ , you—you _dick_?" He punctuates the last word by baring down on Jonny's cock, and Jonny's nerves light up in a way that tells him there's no going back at this point. Honestly, he's both glad and relieved when Patrick's next words are "So you'd better come, so I know you're enjoying it and I don't feel like a selfish asshole."

"Yeah—I—" is about all Jonny's able to grunt, his hips pumping faster his orgasm barrels towards him like a freight train and he loses all semblance of a steady pace. He barely hears Patrick's "oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, right there, fuck _yes_ ," but he _does_ feel Patrick clench around him, his whole body spasming, and Jonny feels his own orgasm rip through him so hard his vision whites out.

He's floating on a heady cloud of endorphins, not entirely sure he hadn't just died of physical pleasure, when he feels Patrick move beside him. "I'd ask if that was as good for you as it was for me," Patrick murmurs, settling against him and wiping him down with a warm, damp cloth Jonny doesn't even remember him getting up to retrieve, "but I always _know_ it's good when you curse in French like that."

"Is that so?" Jonny slurs, mustering enough energy to roll onto his side and fling one of his legs over Patrick's. He wasn't even aware he'd been speaking, let alone what language it might have been in.

"Mmhm." Patrick tosses the washcloth onto the floor, and Jonny mumbles a thank you, amazed Patrick has the energy to get up, clean himself up, and then come take care of Jonny. Usually, Jonny takes on that role. But if ever there's been an experience that illustrated the idea of 'coming your brains out', it's this one. "Now share the blankets and let's sleep until noon, okay?"

"Sounds good." But as relaxed as he is, Jonny doesn't drift immediately off to sleep. He feels amazing, and he's not sure if it's just the sex, or that in combination with all the emotional stuff that's wrapped around. He's happy, even outside of the oxytocin and other hormones that are still swirling through his blood, and at least part of that's having Patrick back to himself, everything normal again. There's this weird sort of tenderness to it, too, and Jonny thinks that maybe it has something to do with knowing the level of trust Patrick has in him, believing Jonny will take care of him, purposefully letting himself be so vulnerable in inducing a transformation. Sometimes Jonny wonders just how long he's actually loved Patrick—because as time goes on, as he sees additional examples of how woven they are into each other's lives, he feels surer that it's a lot longer than he's ever been even remotely aware of.

And that's okay by him, really.

"You're still awake," Patrick says softly in the dark, breaking Jonny's reverie.

Jonny's eyebrows go up, even though Patrick can't see the expression. "So are you."

Patrick hums but doesn't say anything else, and Jonny's figured he's fallen asleep after all when Patrick rolls over. "Hey, Jonny?" Patrick whispers, and Jonny opens his eyes to see Patrick's earnest face on the pillow beside his.

"Yeah?"

"I'm still kinda high, and it's kinda awesome."

Jonny laughs and pulls Patrick against him, rubbing one hand up and down Patrick's back as Patrick nuzzles at Jonny's throat. "I've decided, I'm growing you your own personal stash of catnip," he says, feeling another surge of fondness swell up in his chest.

Patrick makes a happy sound, rubbing his lips and nose against Jonny's collarbone, and then he stills. "...This doesn't count, does it? Like. This wouldn't be a problem if the league were to drug test or something, right?"

Hiding a smirk in Patrick's curls, Jonny shakes his head. "No, you're totally safe. It's not even an illicit substance. I'm pretty sure it's in the relaxation tea I have in the cupboard—the one Crow recommended, with the chamomile and lemon balm." He snorts. "Also, they've never tested me for my, uh, recreational indulgences, so I'm pretty sure you're fine."

"Awesome," Patrick says, sounding relieved. He tilts his head up and kisses Jonny, sweet and soft. "And don't think this is the catnip, because it's not, but I just want you to know that I really fucking love you."

Jonny looks down at Patrick's open, sincere expression and strokes one thumb over Patrick's cheekbone, smiling. "I know," he says. "I love you, too." Patrick's eyes flutter shut as Jonny leans in to kiss him again, and they fall asleep soon after, hands clasped together underneath Patrick's pillow.


End file.
